I studied him. “And that’s important?”
He backtracked a little. “You’re not my lawyer; you’re just some snob in a suit. Why the fuck should I explain any of it to you?”
“Because my job is to provide your psychological profile to the jury. That profile will likely determine whether or not they show you any mercy.”
He looked down at his chained hands. “I don’t deserve mercy.”
“Interesting.” I added a third word to his list:Empathetic.“And why not?”
Kane shrugged. “Well, I killed them. Doesn’t really matter why, right? They’re still dead.”
“So you’ll plead guilty?”
“Yes.”
Emotionally intelligent.“Do you believe you deserve mercy?”
“Mercy doesn’t exist for Creed.”
“I thought you didn’t claim that name anymore?”
“I never really have, agent. It was forced on me much like everything else.”
“As in you believe that you’re guilty but you were pushed to that edge?”
“This is dull. Do you at least have a smoke?”
“No. Answer the question, Mr. Creed.”Evasive. “What pushed you to kill those people?”
“The Thorne in my side.” His nose scrunched, his lips dragging in an upward quirk at his own pun.
Egotistical, I wrote, keeping my eyes on him. My pen faltered at the humor in his eyes. It was the most human I’d seen any of Creed. “Your brother, you mean? Your accomplice mentioned he died in the explosion set by Arden Creed.”
“Jesus, that was a whole lot of wrong. Arden didn’t kill Thorne. He was shot. And Rafe wasn’t my goddamn accomplice.”
“Rafe’s confession says differently. He said explicitly that he shot Thorne and aided you in the attack at Hotel Viktoria.”
He straightened. “I thought you just said Arden killed my brother. Playing mind games, agent?”
Far more intelligent and detail-oriented than he lets on. I shrugged. “Just seeing if your stories line-up.”
“If Rafe said he killed Thorne or touched anyone at that hotel, then that was the bleeding heart talking again. He didn’t. Thorne was shot by one of Halden’s guards.”
“Halden Taylorson, the man Arden Creed beat to death and lit on fire? Her DNA was found on his remains when we searched the compound. At least what remained of his…corpse.” I swallowed and pushed a photo of Halden Taylorson’s body toward Kane, but he barely blinked at the sight of it. If anything, he looked happy, and my stomach clenched. I recognized that look. It seemed Kane Creed did share something with every other murderer I’d interviewed.
“Only ever knew him as Halden orMr. Halden,” he spat, his expression slicing toward pure pride. “And he deserved that death, so fuck yeah, motherfucker. Our girl did that, and she did it fucking perfectly.”
“You may want to refrain from profanity,” I said. “Juries don’t take well to it.”
Kane Creed leaned back in his chair, knees spreading wide, chains pulling taut as he popped his lips once in nonchalance. “Fuck you,” he proclaimed, pointing his middle finger at me,“fuck them,” he continued, pointing at the recorder, “and fuck this,” he finished with a flourish, gesturing to the entire facility.
I cleared my throat. I found myself missing the silence of Rafe and Arden Creed. “So your brother is dead.”
Kane went still, his casual sarcasm and humor draining out of his body as if something vital had been broken beneath his skin. His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath it, and his eyes dropped to the table, unfocused. For a moment, I thought he might say nothing at all. Then his breath hitched, shallow, like he was trying and failing to put himself back together. When he looked up at me, the hostility was still there, but it was edged with something uncontained and feral. “You must have a death wish,” he said hoarsely.
A chill ran down my spine. “Are you threatening my life?”
“You just seem like a bit of an idiot.”
